


Swing Away

by lemonlovely



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Baseball, Baseball Camp, Blow Jobs, Canon compliant-ish, Drug Use, M/M, Pre-s3, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22767499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonlovely/pseuds/lemonlovely
Summary: Steve and Billy go to the same Hawkins Baseball Camp that Steve's been going to since he was a kid, and Billy is not particularly thrilled to be there - he fucking hates baseball, alright? And he tells Steve as much.Steve can't figure it out at first, but then Neil Hargrove's in the stands like one of those crazed parents, screaming his head off, and like - Steve suddenly gets it. It all makes sense.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 15
Kudos: 182
Collections: Harringrove Week of Love, harringrove for Australia





	Swing Away

**Author's Note:**

> Summer Camp AU prompt for EatingMoonflowers, from Harringrove Week of Love! I hope you like it and yeah again I went way over word count ahahah I can't write short things I don't know, I really hope you like it!!!! <3 Ily bb! Thank you thank you!

Steve fucking loved summer – he loved everything about summer, an Indiana summer, which was the only kind he knew. He loved the way you could hear lawn mowers in the distance, and how the air smelled like freshly cut grass as a result.

He loved the way dandelions popped up in lawns, and the way the asphalt got so hot that the tar covering up the cracks turned soft and warm like inky black playdough. He loved the fireworks over the 4th of July, and in the subsequent weeks before and after – the way lightning bugs drifted over the fields in the late evening and the darkness of night, and lingered in the gaps of tree trunks in the forest, where it was quiet and still. 

Picnic blankets spread out in parks, or at picnic tables, full of fresh fruit that was harder to get in winter like watermelon and strawberries, buckets of KFC with mashed potatoes, and peach pies for dessert and tart lemonade to wash everything down . 

Endless blue skies and playing in the sprinkler when you were still a kid, then laying down on the piping hot, grey cement of the driveway to bake yourself dry. Popsicles melting in the sun, fingers sticky with blue sugar, and the chime of the ice cream man chugging along down the street. 

There was nothing like summer. And after a long few years of what felt like an endless winter, in the repercussions of everything that had happened – Steve was full planning on enjoying this summer. 

School was finally out – another reason why summer was the best, because there was no school during break. But this year that was different, too – because he’d never go back to school again, not unless by some miracle he got into college, but considering all the rejection applications he’d gotten back with ‘We’re sorry to inform you,’ and ‘Thank you for applying, however…’ that didn’t seem all that likely.

But he liked where he was at. He liked working at scoops, although that alluring jingle of the ice cream man driving down the street definitely wasn’t so appealing anymore, not when he was slinging the stuff day in and day out.

Steve was determined to enjoy summer, but he could barely get out of Starcourt to really do that. Having a summer job was a new and entirely unsatisfactory experience, but the money – that was pretty good. Even if his dad had totally made him get the job, it was sort of nice being able to make his own money and not have to reply on his parent’s credit cards. 

He and Robin had already been talking about getting an apartment – someplace small that they could just hang out, and be, and Steve wouldn’t have to deal with his dad always getting on his case about what an entitled lay-about he was, and his mother’s casual disinterest over the subject. Steve was saving up his paychecks so that they could afford to put a deposit down. 

But there was one thing, one big thing, that Steve loved about summer that he never missed, and even Scoops Ahoy wasn’t going to keep him from it. He’d gotten his schedule adjusted and everything.

Because like swimming in the community pool until their skin turned pruny, or catching fireflies in the dim light of a twilight evening in June, it’d always been a tradition with Steve and his friends (mostly Tommy, since they’d been best friends forever) to join the Hawkins Baseball Camp. 

Really, it was the closest thing that Hawkins had to offer to a baseball team, but it wasn’t really a traditional stay-away summer camp, either. More like a day-camp, and you just played baseball. That was it. That was the camp.

Steve’d done baseball camp every summer since he’d turned seven – back when it was more like little league, and then you could progress up through elementary school, middle school, and eventually high school levels. The schools themselves didn’t offer any form of team, so really, this was the closest you got in Hawkins. It was for two weeks in June every year, eating, dreaming, and breathing baseball. At least, that’s what their coach always said – Coach Evans. It was only for about two hours very day though, so, Steve didn’t really eat, dream and breathe baseball. It was still fun either way.

This year, it’d be another chapter closing, because your senior summer was the last one you could play. It was almost bittersweet to see it go – it was something he always did, and he guessed in the same way that you got used to going to school, it was a constant that would go away now that he’d graduated. His dad would say ‘leaving behind childish things’ which he would think was sooo clever like people didn’t say that all the time.

But at least he had one last summer – even if he wasn’t even friends with Tommy anymore, he was still planning on making the best out of it, even if last summer had been super weird. 

Steve showed up to the first day of camp in June, and saw all of the faces he expected to see – the same faces he’d seen nearly every year since he was a kid, though some had come and gone intermittently over time for reasons varying from boredom, to got braces, to graduated out of it. Steve’d be in those ranks soon, but he’d stuck around even when he _had_ braces, thank you very much. He was dedicated like that. 

But there was that one face he hadn’t expected, but really? Really, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. Not after he’d already taken over his basketball season. Now he was here – Steve’s last summer of baseball camp. His heart immediately sank in his chest the moment he saw Billy Hargrove glancing over his shoulder, a well-worn leather glove on one hand, a forest green baseball cap perched atop his golden curls with a bold white “H’ on the front.

“And you do this for fun?” Dustin asked him from where he’d been slowly wheeling alongside Steve on his bike on the way to the little ballpark. He came to a stop and stuck his foot on the ground to lean against it, straddling the bike as he stared at the field and the baseball diamond skeptically. 

“Of course I do this for fun,” Steve said, trying to tear his eyes away from Billy – those blue eyes burning against his like aquamarine fire.

“You’re going to Camp Know-It-All camp next week, right?” 

“Okay well yeah but that’s different – and it’s Camp _Know_ Where, Steve. _Know_ Where. Get it? Like Nowhere. It’s a play on words!”

Steve shrugged. “Oh yeah, sorry. Nowhere, I get it.” He smiled a little over at Dust, then smacked the brim of his cap fondly. Dustin laughed and righted it, smiling cheekily up at Steve where he balanced his bike. “Well you do your sciency stuff, and I do my baseball stuff.” 

“Well if it makes you happy I support you.” Dustin said like his little cheerleader. 

“Did you get the sunflower seeds?” Steve asked him real serious. 

“Yes I did but I still don’t understand how this is a custom of baseball – “ Dustin started.

Steve sighed. “It just is, man. You can eat ‘em while you sit on the bleachers, and I’ll eat ‘em while I play. It’ll give you something to do while you wait, see?” 

“And this is in replacement to tobacco use?” 

“I dunno man, I guess. It’s fun though, ‘kay? You’ll see.” 

They headed over to the metal bleachers, bare under the beat of the sun, no shade to speak of as Dustin plopped down onto the bleachers, throwing the brake on his bike beforehand. He dug around his backpack for a while before he pulled out a bag of sunflower seeds. 

Steve was glancing up at Billy across the field – he definitely wasn’t chewing sunflower seeds, he was chewing gum really aggressively. When he caught Billy’s gaze again it slid away like water, glancing off of Steve and over to the bleachers. 

Steve followed the direction he was looking in – there was a gathering of people to see them play, usually was every summer, people liked to watch the games every day. He realized that Max was over there – he grinned and waved with his glove gripped in his hand, getting up on the toes of his cleats so she could see them. She glanced up from where she’d been hunched over, elbows on her knees, looking bored as could be. 

She perked up when she saw Steve, and then immediately turned to a red-headed woman next to her to ask her something. The woman looked equally bored, with a crochet needle and some yarn in one hand as she nodded vaguely and waved Max off. Steve recognized her as Max’s mom – he’d seen Susan Hargrove a few times when he’d gone to pick up Max.

But another man was sitting with them, who Steve really only thought he knew by name, not by face – that must be Neil Hargrove. He didn’t look bored and he didn’t look distracted and overheated – he was staring intently off at the field and at all the players, a frown marring his features. He had a baseball cap that matched the team’s on, casting shade over half of his face. 

Steve thought that was kinda nice that they were here to watch Billy play and all. Steve’s family had never shown up to watch him play – they’d always said that they would, but never did. Steve’s dad always had a business meeting and his mom always had some appointment, although she’d shown up to a few of them when he’d been a kid. He guessed the novelty had worn off over the years though, and he’d grown up. 

Max was heading over to them now, looking relieved in a striped t-shirt and high waisted blue jean shorts with tube socks up to her band-aid dotted knees. 

“Hey guys! I didn’t know you’d be here!” She said. 

“Oh hey Max!” Dustin grinned. “I forgot you weren’t at camp!”

“Yeah, we couldn’t really – do that.” Max said, wrinkling her nose a little. “I really wanted to go to that Astrology camp with Lucas, but – well. I guess we just couldn’t do that.”

Steve really didn’t say anything about it – neither did Dustin, wisely. They both knew – hell, the whole town knew, he guessed, that the Hargroves weren’t exactly on the richer side of town. If you wanted to get technical, Old Cherry was on the ‘other side’ of the railroad tracks. Steve didn’t know how accurate that was, though. He also knew that an Astrology camp was probably a lot more expensive than Hawkins crappy old baseball camp, which was in town and only a day camp, but he figured they’d still have to pay fees for Billy to play on the team. Steve had.

“Everybody’s gone,” She said, frowning, scuffing her shoe in the dirt. “Even Will’s still at Art camp, and Mike’s on vacation with his family. But you’re still here?” 

Dustin made a face. “Uhhhhh yeah but I’m going to one soon too, I’ll be going to Camp Knowhere next week.” 

“Oh yeah.” Max said, looking glum.

“Well I’ll be around!” Steve offered, trying to brighten her up. “We could totally hang out or whatever!”

“You’re always at Scoops.” Max pointed out.

“Well c’mon into Scoops, free ice cream, remember?” Steve grinned, reaching out to ruffle her red hair until she looked annoyed and swatted at him with a grin. “I’ll get you into a movie or two. Sound good?” 

Neil Hargrove was staring at them.

“Yeeeeeah I guess. At least the mall is air conditioned! Jesus it’s hot here. How do you guys stand it?” Max frowned and pulled her messed-up hair back into a ponytail with the tye-dye scrunchie on her wrist. Now that he got a better look at her, she looked pretty red and sweaty, like she was burning under the sun. “How is it HOTTER than back home?”

Dustin was sort of gnawing at one of the (individual) sunflower seed shells and making a gross mess. 

“It’s a lot more humid here, you’ll maybe get used to it?” Steve said – not sure if she actually would. “Hey, Dustin, I’ve gotta head out there – can you get some of the sunblock out of my bag for Max? You’re getting burnt, kiddo.” He pointed at Max. 

“Uh Steve I still don’t know how to eat these sunflower seeds – I mean – “

“You’re doing it all wrong,” Max sighed. “Here, I’ll show you – you put a bunch in your cheek, like a pocket, see? Then you put one between your molars, crack it, eat the seed and spit.” She grabbed some, gave an example, then spit the shell cleanly on the dirt. “See? Like that.” 

Dustin tried and spit it all over himself. Max cracked up.

Steve grabbed a handful to stuff into his pocket. “Keep trying, you can do it, good luck Henderson. It’s part of the experience! Put on sunblock guys, I mean it!” 

He readjusted his baseball cap and jogged lightly out onto the field, mitt in hand. Everybody was there that he knew – Nicky and Simon and Chris and Jason and everybody else, Tommy hanging out near Billy which wasn’t the least bit surprising, everybody in their Hawkins green and grey baseball gear. Steve was #7, Billy was #4, Tommy was #10. 

“Well if it’s not Harrington,” Tommy said snidely, as if he hadn’t been best friends with Steve for the better part of their lives – really, Steve didn’t feel bad for dropping him for being an asshole. He’d gotten so much worse. “You still playing babysitter to those kids or what? That’s just pathetic.” 

Billy was watching Steve, lashes half lowered, but he seemed distracted in a way he’d never seen him during basketball. His attention seemed to be half on the bleachers, and only half on what was going on around him. 

“Good to see you man, you still working at that uh – what’s it? At the mall?” Jason asked him. 

“Yeah uh, Scoops? Scoops Ahoy.” Steve said, flushing a little. “It’s the ice cream shop.”

“Cool, cool man.” Jason said, nodding, tossing a baseball in the air and catching it lightly.

“Hey Hargrove,” Steve said a little stilted to Billy. 

They hadn’t really…talked. Sort of off and on, he guessed. The last time they’d really had more than a two word conversation had been early in the spring, when Billy had sort of apologized to him (in a way that he hadn’t really apologized at all, but it had been pretty close, and Steve figured he could take what he’d get. He hadn’t even been expecting to get that much.) And then, well…some other things had happened after that too. But Steve tried not to _think_ about that, because that was over.

“Didn’t know you were doing camp this summer?”

“Yeah well.” Billy snapped, chewing his gum in this agitated sort of way, not looking at Steve at all – his eyes were somewhere in the middle distance, not looking at anything. “Here I am.” He briefly glanced at Steve then, a tight little tic to the corner of his mouth, jaw locked. “You got a problem with that, Harrington?” 

“No! No, it’s just – good to have a new face on the team, that’s all. I didn’t know you played baseball, too. We’ll have about even teams this year.” Billy’d make exactly sixteen of them, split two ways. They’d always been short an outfielder before, one way or the other. 

“Oh yeah, it’s my favorite fucking sport.” Billy snapped, voice dripping sarcasm, but he looked like he was trying to keep his cool. It was sort of lost on Steve though – didn’t he like baseball?

Billy’s pale blue eyes skittered back to the bleachers, and away. He swallowed hard, and then snatched the ball out of midair where Jason was tossing it up. He seemed on edge or something, more than normal – hell, Billy Hargrove always seemed on edge. But it seemed different, like he was walking the fine line of a razor blade.

When Steve glanced over at the bleachers, wondering where Coach Evans had gotten to, he realized what Billy had been looking at. The mustached, compact man that had been on the bleachers – Neil Hargrove, Billy’s dad – was talking to coach over at the high, chain link fence that separated the field from the bleachers. He was talking with him real intensely about something, a baseball bat hanging from one hand, gesturing out vaguely at the diamond with the other. He must be really into the game – bought an extra cap and everything.

When coach came back over he was laughing a little, mopping up his face with a handkerchief and adjusting his ball cap. Neil Hargrove was pacing around behind the fence like some kind of a wild cat behind bars – watching them. But Steve wasn’t paying much attention, they were getting started.

They got all their positions figured out for outfield, and the batting lineups for both teams, and who was going to be on which team for the whole of the two week camp. Steve was on the opposite team to Billy and Tommy, he was paired up with Jason and Chris and a handful of other guys. Red and Blue teams, respectively. 

They started out by warming up first until they finally started playing, and the field was real dusty and dry from a lack of rain, and they kicked it up as they ran their bases, fogging the air with dirt from their cleats. 

The sun beat down on the field, golden and bright, burning hot, and Steve’s hair started to curl at the back of his neck under his cap with perspiration as they played – he was glad for the sunblock, or he’d be lobster red by now. 

It was easy to get back into the swing of the game, and even though Billy was a newbie to camp, and hadn’t been playing like everybody else had together for years, it was obvious he’d played before, and a lot. He was damn good at the game, actually, but he seemed jumpy and snappier than normal, not as happy and show dogging as much as he did on the basketball court. He seemed distracted.

Playing basketball, he smiled all the time, wagged his tongue at Steve like a mockery, showing off literally as much as possible. But now – even though he wasn’t smiling anymore – he was taking it a lot more seriously. 

Billy was a great pitcher, they found, and though they usually alternated a lot on pitchers for outfielding, they kept coming back to Billy a lot. 

Steve didn’t much like pitching so much, he liked getting people out as they were running bases, but really, he liked batting the most. That was why he played baseball, hell, why he’d been playing it for years every summer. Was probably one of his favorite games to play.

And although he could see how great Billy was at playing it, he could tell he had no love for it – in fact, he’d say he might be close to hating it. But it would be hard to see if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but it was a disdain that seemed to linger just in the surface of Billy’s perfect, golden skin. 

Steve didn’t understand why he was here, playing, if he hated it. Or why he hated it. 

However, it started to become evident why. Neil Hargrove was one of _those_ parents – it’d been more than a few years since Steve’d seen them around at really any of his sports games. Maybe closer to when he’d been a kid, some of the parents got really….zealous. Which was totally stupid because it was just a kids game, it was baseball camp. It was meant to be fun.

It was supposed to be fun, but some of the parents acted like they’d signed their kid up for the MLB and expected some kind of a contract and all of the perks and benefits of a signing agent or some kinda shit like that. In a nutshell, they were totally nuts. 

But they weren’t kids anymore – Steve’d graduated, though Billy had been a Junior, so he was just going into his senior year. 

The more Neil Hargrove screamed through the chainlink fence, hit the fence to make it shake and rattle, half stalked out onto the field to try and holler at coach before coach had to send him back – the more Steve got it. 

Was almost embarrassing for the first day, and it wasn’t even directed at him. 

Mrs. Hargrove had put away her crochet, had fanned herself for a while with a folded up paper, but now she was just sitting hunched over, arms folded across her chest, watching her husband pace back and forth along the chainlink fence, caged, about to go apeshit or postal or something, with pale nervous eyes, until she finally put her hands together like she was praying against her lips. 

The more it happened, the more ramped up Billy got. He was sweating and red in the face and he was making crazy eyes like he had that night at the Byers’ before he’d beat Steve’s face in. When he pitched to Steve the throws were wild, erratic – the more his dad screamed, the worse Billy got, the more the ball strayed or slowed or curved where it shouldn’t curve.

“Batter up!” Coach called. 

Steve always swung away. It felt wrong not to swing. But it became easier to bat against Billy pitching, while before it’d been almost impossible to hit anything he was throwing. Steve spun the bat around a few times with practiced ease, then got in position, twisting his hands around the smooth, familiar grit of the wood handle. The bases were loaded. 

“C’mon Hargrove, just give ‘im a close shave!” one of the outfielders called. “Throw some strikes!” 

“Throw it in here!” The catcher added.

“Hit it outta the park, Harrington!” his own team called.

Billy drew back, leg up, dropped it and pitched hard ‘n fast. The ball curved wild, then connected with the solid wood of the bat as Steve swung harder – the ball _soared._

Steve went off like a shot, sprinting the bases as the rest of his team on the bases ran to home plate until they’d all crossed home. All the while the other team scrambled for the ball.

By the time Steve crossed home plate, it was over, and they’d won. 

Neil Hargrove was over yelling at coach even as everybody cheered and patted Steve on the back, all gathering around him and chattering at him and it was probably one of the first times that Steve’d felt like he was really part of a team, or useful to really anybody, in a while – but all he could see was Mr. Hargrove screaming all red-faced in Coach’s face. 

Coach Evans wasn’t laughing anymore, and he didn’t look amused or laughing like he had at the start of the game. Mrs. Hargrove was hiding her face in her hands on the bleachers at that point, and Max was sitting down with Dustin at the end, looking sulky, with her cheek full of sunflower seeds like a chipmunk, her skateboard in her hands – half covering her body like a shield as her eyes followed Billy on the field. 

That was when Steve looked at Billy again. He looked like he was full of caged lightning – like it might crackle out of him and electrocute everyone within a ten food radius. And at the moment, he was stalking towards Steve – his glove was still on one hand, the ball clenched tight in the other, knuckles bleached white where he gripped it, fingertips pink as he approached. He wasn’t chewing his gum – he almost looked like he had it clenched between his back teeth, or he’d forgotten to chew it. A muscle was jumping in his cheek. 

“Hey – “ Steve said, “It was a really good game! You’re a really good pitcher.”

“If he was so good he wouldn’t have lost us the game,” one of the other guys was saying.

“We wouldn’t have kept picking you as pitcher if we knew you didn’t know how to play,” one of the other team said.

But Steve’d seen it too, they’d all seen it – Billy had been really good, he DID know how to play. It’d all just sort of…faded away the longer they played. The more Neil Hargrove yelled shit at him through the fence – things like ‘Focus!’ or ‘Are you blind?!’ and ‘Show a little hustle! Or is that too much to ask!?’ ‘Pay attention! Look at what you’re doing!’  
‘WILLIAM!’

It was the most uncomfortable game Steve’d probably ever played, all of the parents  
shifting uneasily on the bleachers – like they didn’t know what to do, either. 

“Hey, no, he did really well, alright? This is all just for fun, it’s camp. It’s not life or death,” Steve had said. Billy looked like he didn’t believe him, and he still hadn’t said anything. 

He looked like he was restraining himself from beating the shit out of the whole team, starting with Steve. Like that would be new.

“Dude your dad is a total basketcase.” Said one of the guys – Chris. 

Billy punched Chris in the face. It was like all of the electricity that Steve had seen building up in him for the whole game finally spilled over – the same charge from when he’d beat the ever-loving shit out of Steve that night last fall, before they’d practically stopped talking entirely. Steve knew what happened next – knew it wasn’t good. 

He got up behind Billy and pulled him off of Chris, pulled him back before he could him straddled against the ground and start destroying his face the way he’d destroyed Steve’s. Until his head bounced off the dirt. 

For a second, he’d turned like he was about to sock Steve too, but he flinched a little the second he saw it was Steve at his back. He grit his teeth, baring them, before he glanced back at the pale, blonde boy.

“You’re not FUCKING worth it,” Billy spat at Chris, where the other boy’d stumbled back, holding his face.

Coach hadn’t seen – he’d been too busy dealing with Mr. Hargrove.

The second day was much the same thing. Though Billy still pitched sometimes, mostly he didn’t – mostly he stayed to the outfield, and when he was up to pitch he was the last one his team had in the lineup. 

Which only seemed to make his dad angrier from the sidelines, all the more verbal – coach had started to warn him. Really he’d had to start warning him on the first day, but it was like coach was just as blindsided as it by the rest of them. Like he didn’t really know what to do about it. He wasn’t even one of the crazy little league parents. Billy was grown.

When coach finally threatened to kick him off the field completely, and to sit his ass down, and shut up, Mr. Hargrove had looked absolutely murderous but finally sat down but also looked like he might be plotting coach Evan’s untimely death. 

The third day Billy’s family wasn’t there. And Billy played a little bit better, but he was still volatile at best, yelling his head off at everybody. But then, when Steve was getting ready to head home and get showered off, and most of the others had already gone, he caught Billy as he was heading out. Steve adjusted his yellow and white duffel bag that he had slung over his shoulder, jogging a little to catch up.

“Hey! Hargrove,” he called. “Wait up.”

Billy glanced over his shoulder. “Whaddya want, Harrington.” He said, voice low and sullen. He’d showed up to play today with a wicked bruise spread out over half his face, radiating out from a brutal black eye. “I’ve gotta get to the pool.” He started to turn away again. 

“Hey, wait wait. Sorry, I mean, I know you’ve gotta work – I was just wondering, um.” Steve faltered – he didn’t know why he was trying to talk to Billy Hargrove after months of very pointedly avoiding him. “I was wondering how you were doing?” 

“What, like you wanna give me shit too?” 

“No, that’s not it. I mean – you’re actually really good at playing, you shouldn’t listen to any of the other guys.”

“I’m not listening to those fucking assholes. I don’t even want to fucking be here.” Billy snapped and started to turn away to start stalking back towards the parking lot. The Camaro was parked there, a few spaces down from Steve’s Beamer.

Steve frowned a little, trotting to keep up again. “Why are you playing if you don’t want to be here? I mean, it’s summer. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, tell my old man that.” Billy sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, careful of the bruise. His knuckles were still red from where he’d slugged Chris. 

“He seems uh…” Steve searched for the words, considering that Chris got himself punched in the face for his. “Very – passionate?” 

“Sure. Passionate.” Billy said, chin tipped down as he drew a pack of smokes out of his own duffel bag. “He takes his baseball _real_ serious. It’s an American _pastime_ after all. What d’you really want?”

“I mean I guess I just…” Steve said, pausing, his brain spinning. 

He thought of seeing Billy’s dad over the past few days, and in return, Billy’s reaction. He thought of the bruise on the side of Billy’s face, how he said he’d just gotten into a fight, but Chris had never roughed him up back. He studied Billy for a moment, standing there. He looked like he had thunder somewhere inside of him, rolling somewhere deep, and like he could just vibrate out of his skin at the same time. 

Steve’d never seen him so flustered, so off kilter – off his game, as he had these past few days of camp. Usually he was Mr. Confident, Mr. Suave, Mr. Shooting-Baskets-Backwards. 

Maybe it’s because Steve’d never seen him around his dad before. He’d never come to the basketball games. Steve’s dad was an asshole, and he could really mess Steve up with the stupidest little things, and from what little Steve’d seen of Billy’s dad he was way worse in a lot of ways. 

“I thought maybe we could practice,” Steve said, surprising even himself. 

It clearly surprised Billy, too. He just sort of stared at him, looking a little blank for a second, before he seemed to recover himself and mask it. 

“What part of I hate this shit did you not get? You need me to spell it out for you?” 

“Why are you doing camp, then? He can’t make you.”

“’cause my dad paid for it, paid for all this shit. The fees, the gear, everythin.’ Don’t understand why this town even offers a camp for high schoolers, we’re not in little league anymore.”

“I guess it’s because we don’t really have a real team at the high school, we don’t have a proper field. Too small of a town.” Steve shrugged. “But it’s been the same since I was a kid, I’ve done camp since I was like…seven or something, with Tommy, every year. Why’d he pay for it and everything if you didn’t want to do it?” 

“Because he always does, when it comes to baseball. Guess I’ve been playing since I was around seven too, but – “ He seemed to realize he’d been talking more than his usual three words, and shut his mouth, turning away with a click of his tongue. “Don’t know why I’m talkin’ about this with you.” 

“What, he thought you were gonna turn into the next Babe Ruth or something?” Steve offered with a slight smile. 

“Probably,” Billy replied, his shoulders easing a bit as he glanced back at Steve with those sharp blue eyes. “Just never really liked it.” 

With the way his dad screamed at him through the fence? Steve could understand why. It must be humiliating, especially if Billy didn’t like it in the first place.

If somebody MADE Steve play something he didn’t like, he didn’t exactly think that would help him like it any more. 

“Well I mean, we don’t really have to practice. We could just mess around, throw the ball a bit?” 

Billy stared at him, a slow, suspicious look creeping into his those calculating, pale blue eyes. The one that was bruised had a blood vessel that’d burst, with red bleeding into the white of his eye where it wasn’t swollen up. 

“Throw the ball.” He repeated, like Steve was speaking Greek. Like he didn’t understand the concept. Maybe he thought Steve was fucking around with him.

“Yeah, y’know. For fun. It doesn’t have to be serious or anything. There’s even batting cages at the little Fun-Park on the side of town, you know – the one with the Go-Carts?”

Billy seemed to consider it for a moment. “I can’t, I have a shift at the pool in an hour.” He repeated, like Steve hadn’t heard it the first time. 

Steve glanced at his wristwatch – it was nearly eleven, and he had to be at Scoops soon too. Camp only lasted about two hours every morning. “Oh I know – I mean, I have to get to Scoops anyway. But I thought maybe later tonight or something, when it starts to cool down, won’t be so hot then.” 

Billy appeared to be chewing on the inside of his cheek, as if mulling it over, and then he gave an apprehensive, jerky sort of nod, like he wasn’t used to actually saying ‘yes’ to anything like this. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. What time you wanna meet?”

“Well it starts getting dark around nine, so maybe around – well how about 8:00?”

Billy lifted his chin and smiled almost lazily at Steve around his blackened eye, the corner of his mouth barely lifting as he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, adjusting his baseball cap with the other. “Yeah alright. See you around, Harrington.” 

“See ya.” 

*** 

They kept playing at camp, every day. They had their two teams, the Red team and the Blue team. Steve was on Blue, and Billy was on Red, but he found that he liked playing against him - mostly on the days when his dad didn't show up. On the days his dad showed up, his play was so affected that it was truly like night and day. You wouldn't have even thought he was the same player. It was actually a challenge when his family didn’t show up.

Most days were sunny and bright and hot, and Dustin showed up almost every day to hang out with Max and watch the game. She helped him master the art of spitting sunflower seeds, while Steve sat in the 'dugout' and spit sunflower seed shells along with the rest of the guys in the dirt, scuffing his cleats before they got out to bat in the batting order.  
Batting was definitely Steve's favorite in baseball - Billy was alright at batting, he noticed, but really? Really, he was a _really_ good pitcher. Depending on the day and time and...audience. Billy's dad was totally psycho.

Billy and Steve kept playing catch in the evenings on the field in the dim twilight of summer, laughing and talking together about the day and work - they both had summer jobs so there was a lot to talk about.

It was kind of weird, but also, kind of nice just - hanging out with him. Steve hadn't really expected that. He thought, if they hadn't joined camp together, that probably wouldn't have happened. Billy was always gazing off at the fireflies bouncing around everywhere in the background of their impromptu games of catch when Steve didn't have to work. He told Steve that they didn't have fireflies out in California, which was totally weird. 

Steve guessed he was so used to having fireflies out every summer that it was strange to think that some places didn't have them.  
One day it rained, but the camp was rain or shine so they played through it even in the mud and they were slipping and sliding to the bases, and their uniforms were soaked through and through. 

Neil Hargrove was there on that day. Billy slid into home and he was still called 'out' by their Umpire, but Steve didn’t think so. Neil had screamed about it into the rain and kicked at the fence and started to stalk around to get on the field to start going off again, red faced- screaming at the Ump and pointing at Billy, spit flying from his mouth, visible even in the rain. He looked like he was gonna bust a blood vessel, or have a stroke. 

"That's it! That's it, Neil - I'm sorry but you can't be doing this with my guys, alright? You've gotta go. Take a breath, but I can't let you back on the field." Coach called, shaking his head and herding Neil away from their Ump. 

"You understand how much money I paid towards your goddamn camp 'fees?'" Neil had yelled at coach, too. "I have as much of a say as any of the parents paying for you to price gouge them - my boy is - " and he kept going off.

After the game, the guys were all heading out, but Steve didn't see Billy. He was gonna ask him if he wanted to meet up after work to play catch, but he was nowhere to be found. Steve frowned and started to head to work, too. He needed to stop by the house to shower off the rain and mud and throw his jersey in the wash for next week - tomorrow was Saturday, and they didn't play on the weekends. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he heard something, and glanced over his shoulder through the weather. In the distance, in the haze of summer rain, Neil Hargrove was standing with Billy half under the metal bleachers, gleaming silver and wet with rainwater. He had his finger up in Billy's face, and it was clear he was yelling at him. Something the guy seemed fond of. Then he clocked Billy across the face - hard. Billy staggered back, cleats slipping a little in the mud - his back hit the bleachers and his head rocked back. Neil hit him again, his mitt dropped to the ground in the mud, and Neil was pointing out at the field, his mouth open wide, a gaping hole in his face as he screamed through the rain. Steve couldn't see Billy's face, his golden curls creating a wet wave over his face. 

Steve was crossing over the field before he could even think about it. 

"HEY! JACKASS!" Steve yelled. 

Neil Hargrove glanced up sharply at his approach, his entire face smoothing over into the mostly collected face Steve normally saw him wearing aroudn town his - his 'nice guy' face or something. 

"You should watch your language, young man." He told Steve like Steve was just mouthing off for no reason.

"I just saw what you did!" Steve snapped, rain dripping off the tip of his nose as he squinted through it.

"Then you don't think you saw what you did. He slipped in the mud. Isn't that right, Billy? And even if he didn't - that really wouldn't be any of your business."

Steve glanced wild eyed at Billy, for some kind of - backup.

"That's right, sir." Billy said, stiff lipped. His cheek was red, hand on the back of his head, wincing through the drops of water.

"There you go. You see? You're that Harrington boy, aren't you? Your parents should really teach you some manners." 

"Leave it, Harrington. I slipped, man." Billy grit out between his teeth - glaring at Steve like _he_ was the problem here. 

Steve gaped at him. "What? But I - "

"Just get out of here, alright? Go!" 

"You heard me son. Get on home now." 

Steve was breathing so hard he could only see red - but he turned on his heel, cleats squishing in the mud, and left. Ignoring the way his hand was clenched around the hilt of the baseball bat, reminding himself that Neil Hargrove was not that kind of monster. He was a different kind. 

***

"Why don't you leave?" Steve called to Billy across the dew-wet grass as they tossed the ball back and forth, catching it in worn leather mitts and then tossing it back to the other. 

"Can you drop it already? We talked about this."

"Yeah, we did talk about this, and like I told you - I don't believe you. I know what I saw."

Billy sighed, shaking his head as he drew his arm back and tossed the ball lazily overhand. Steve caught it easily. The grass around them was all blue-black in the dim, fading light of the evening sun. It was nearly nine o'clock; it got dark so much later in the summer. 

"What, you think you can do something about it?" It was the first time Billy'd sort of come close to admitting it. "It's normal, Harrington. Alright? Happens to people all the time."

"Doesn't happen to me?"

"Yeah well lucky you, just 'cause you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth." The ball landed a little harder in Steve's mitt this time. 

They were both chewing gum that Billy had shared, and Steve chewed a bit faster. 

"That doesn't have - "

"That has everythin' to do with it, alright? Everything.You just don’t _know_."

Steve was quiet for a time, his silence accompanied by only the sounds of the crickets chirruping in the longer grass towards the trees of the forest, and the cicaidas buzzing in the trees. Fireflies began to light up one by one, in the distance, glowing green in the heightening dark. 

"Why don't you leave? Why don't you quit baseball? You're eighteen, it's your choice."

"Ain't my choice under his roof - understand? And I can't do much about that until I graduate. Already takes all my work money for rent."

"You could....I mean, you could come stay with me. If you wanted."

 _Thump,_ went the ball in the worn out leather of Billy's mitt. He really needed a new one. Billy threw it back - _thump_.

"Robin and I have been talking about getting our own place. But before then, well - my parents aren't home much. Maybe we could look for a three bedroom, you know, when we - "

“Think you gotta curb your white-knight complex, Harrington. We’re not your charity cases.” Billy sneered."I know that we're at camp 'n all and you've apparently got the warm 'n fuzzies, but this is just a summer. We ain't friends, 'member?" 

"But I thought we could be. I mean, what would you call this otherwise?"

"Practice." It felt a lot like what Billy had told him last spring, in the locker room. When he’d cut things off with them.

But it wasn't just practice. It wasn't. At least not to Steve. 

The next week, Neil Hargrove wasn't at camp at all after coach had kicked him out officially. He wasn't to be seen at all, not even in the parking lot, and Billy's game absolutely soared. He seemed happier too, wasn't constantly looking over at the bleachers and having his ball fly wide, or spacing out when he was in outfield until it was too late. Again, it was like - he was a completely different player. He was even mouthing off to Steve which seemed to be a lot farther into his wheelhouse than the nervous sort of wreck he'd been last week.

And now that Steve knew what he knew, he could understand why he was. Maybe it explained a lot. 

He just didn't know what to do to help. 

It was the last day of camp, and they were hanging out after everybody had parted ways, before they had to go to their respective jobs. Still in their uniforms, the blue pin pinned to Steve's breast, the red pin to Billy's.  
Steve had brought some pot to get high before work, since it was the last day 'n all, although neither of them worked until later in the afternoon so they'd sober up by then. They lounged around in the only shade offered on the field, which was under the gleaming metal bleachers. They stood around in the slotted shade from the sun, and passed a blunt back and forth. 

They were close to where Billy had been standing with his old man last week – nearly where Billy had hit his head against the metal edge of the seats. Billy’d wanted to smoke here though, he said.

They hadn't talked about that, or Billy's dad, again. Maybe Steve thought Billy would completely stop talking to him if he did - they weren't friends after all. What did Steve think this was?

"You wanna come get some ice cream later?" Steve asked. "When you're off shift?" 

"Yeah - sure. Can bring Max, she's been bitchin' at me to come over."

"'cause I give her free ice cream." Steve smiled at him.

Billy smiled at him so pretty - Steve thought he had a real nice smile. "That so? You gonna give me some free ice cream, pretty boy?" He asked with a tight voice, licked his tongue around the spitty end of the blunt, then passed it back over. Smoke billowed out of his nose as he let the breath go, spilling from his nostrils like a dragon. 

"If you ask nicely." Steve said, adjusting his ball cap on his head as he let the roach sit between his fingers - could feel the burn of it all the way in his bones. He lifted it to wrap his lips around where Billy's had just been. 

Everything felt lighter, righter, warm and fuzzy around the edges. Billy was right. Steve was getting all warm and fuzzy and he couldn't help it. Sometimes Steve just got that way. Just like he had this past spring with Billy. All butterflies in his stomach.

Maybe it was just the magic of summer. But it really did make him think about those few rushed showers together back in the spring - the ones they'd never talked about. He wondered....he wondered if Billy ever thought about them.

Clashing teeth and tongues and rushing so fast under the steam and the heat of the spray. Getting each other off. Twice. Steve still wasn't sure what had happened back then, or how it had gotten to that point - he wasn't sure he wanted to, if it was anything less than what he'd thought it had been. He'd known he wanted more, but that never happened.  
And now here they were - practicing in the field after work every evening, playing ball half the day through, and Billy was finally laughing, smiling again. Steve knew where the bruises he'd seen in the shower were from, and they hadn't been from any mutaul fight. And that changed things. Explained some things, too. 

"I can ask real nice." Billy said slowly, voice a little husky, the edge of his mouth curling up. Lashes lowering into those infamous bedroom eyes of his that Steve was so familiar with from the showers - the first indictor, when he'd turned those eyes on Steve in the nude, that there was more to him than met the eye. And Steve'd wanted to know more about that too. 

Their eyes caught for a moment, there under the bleachers - the bright blaze of the ocean, with the earthy pitch of whiskey honey. Steve wondered if they were both thinking of the same thing.

When Billy's asked him for something else, once upon a time. When he'd asked Steve _please_. 

Steve dropped his eyes and handed the blunt back over. He swung the bat a little that'd been hanging in his other hand experimentally, twirling it around a little and then gave it a swing like he was hitting a homer, cleats lifting dust. 

“You’re good with a bat,” Billy said. It made a shiver light up Steve’s spine, the way he said it.

"Do you ever think about it?" Steve asked.

"Think about what."

"Y'know? You 'n me."

"There wasn't no you 'n me."

"Yeah. Yeah I know. But do you ever think about it?"

"What? Where you invite me to go move in with you?" Billy asked meanly around the sharp glint of his canines. 

And maybe that's why they hadn't kept doing...whatever it had been, that wasn't a 'you 'n me' thing. Because Billy just kept pushing Steve away, when Steve wanted it to be...more. It just never had been. Couldn’t be, Billy’d said.

But he could feel Billy's eyes on him now, on the form of his body as he swung at an invisible pitch. And he didn't think it was about correcting it. Or maybe he still just wanted Billy to look at him like that. 

"That offer still stands no matter what. I mean - if your dad is - "

"I'm fine Harrington. Just drop it." Billy sighed, shaking his head. "I go and somebody else will just take my place. You catch my drift?"

Steve stared at him blankly. He didn't catch it. What?

"Small, red head, bit of a bitch?"

Oh, oh shit. Max. Steve hadn't...he hadn't thought about Max. He probably should have. But what did that mean, she'd take his place? 

"Can't you all leave? Her mom too?"

"I told you it's fine, don't ya know the meaning of 'drop it?' I'm done talking about this." 

"What do you want to talk about then?"

Billy looked at him for a long while - his eyes were pinking with the weed, bloodshot through the whites, and he dropped the remainder of the blunt and snuffed it out under his cleat. 

"You still think about it?"

"Hey," Steve frowned and then laughed a little, which felt out of place considering. "That's not fair - I asked you first, and you didn't tell me - "

"I do. Sometimes. I guess." He seemed to be grinding his teeth in thought, and he reached up to adjust his baseball cap with the 'H' above the brim.

"Me too." Steve said, admitted.

"You - " Billy swallowed, asessing Steve - he seemed to pause, take a breath. "You wanna do a little less talking?" Those bright blues flashed up to Steve, intense, inquiring. "Don't wanna talk about that anymore." 

And, Steve thought, that by a little less talking - it meant doing something else with his mouth. Billy's eyes _told_ him that. Steve's heart picked up in his chest, and he dropped his mitt on the ground. 

Billy straightened up a little, and the entire atmosphere shifted. Changed. But here? He wanted to do it here? Right where just the other day, Neil had clocked him in the face – he’d hit his head on the bleachers. They were just a little deeper into the shadows than before. Here? But Billy was asking him. He was honest to god, in the only way Billy ever _asked_ , asking Steve. To do a little less talking.

"I can do that," Steve said. "Less talking, gotchya."

"I mean you can blow me, Harrington." Billy's eyes were blue and blazing like jewels in his face. "Right here."

Steve laughed a little, flushing red and it had nothing to do with the sun on his cheeks. "I think I got that."

He stepped up close to him, closing the space, hidden under the bleachers from the sun, and hidden from view. Billy tracked his approcah with those intelligent blue eyes, like a lion tracking the motions of a meal through the long grass. Steve had to tip his head to press his mouth against Billy's so the brims of their caps wouldn't clash, and he shuffled his cleats forward in the dirt, into Billy's space. 

It had been months since their lips touched - and this wasn't the showers at school, alone and isolated under the steam after all the other guys had left. It was in the bright light of day, with Billy golden and real against him, not a dream like so many version of him that had visited Steve in the depths of night. 

A weak sounding breath left Billy’s nose, like he’d been holding it in for years, the moment their lips met.

He still smelled of musk and sweat from playing on the field, and the bitter scent of the weed, along with the overpowering spice of his cologne he always wore. Even to practice, and he also smelled of the lingering scents of the pool from work every day - the soft remnants of chlorine, and the sweet scent of Banana Boat suntan oil. 

Their lips met, soft and brief, and months of going without it crashed down on Steve. And then again, harder, with more purpose, bringing tongues into play. Hot breath and spit, licking into Billy’s mouth and Billy was giving it right back.

It had only been a few times, what they'd done in the privacy of the orange walled, school showers. And it had ended when Billy'd said it was over, whatever it was - when Steve'd wanted more, he guessed. Steve always wanted more, and Billy had said he couldn't give it. 

And Steve - Steve didn't know if this was any different. If this meant anything had even changed. He didn't think so, even months later, with a brusie across the side of Billy's face, and a baseball bat and both of their leather gloves at their feet. The color of their camp teams pinned to their breasts. 

Was he really getting himself into this sort of heartbreak again

Yes. Yes, he was. Because Billy made him so stupid like that.

Steve fumbled with the complicated closure of Billy's baseball pants where he had to deal with the cup and jock strap, and kissed Billy again - licking the smoke and ash from his tongue, before he sank to his knees. Tugging the baseball pants down to the socks all the way up to Billy's knees. 

"Christ, Harring _ton_ \- " Billy started, words half groaned, those callused, scarred hands dropping down to Steve's shoulders. It might have been wishful thinking, but Steve thought he sounded a little breathless. It went straight to Steve's dick, straining more than a little in his own cup. Who had invented those things and why.

Steve wouldn't have admitted, not in a million years, how his saliva glands went into overdrive as he got the cup out of the way - Billy was already straining against it, more than half hard just from the kiss, and his cock bounded back up once it was freed. Steve tried not to moan at the sight of it, like an old friend, and he told himself he didn’t want it as bad as he did. Not before he got Billy's pants more securely around his thighs and then licked against the head - working to wake it up a little more, tasting pre at the tip. 

Billy made a shuddering sound that wasn't quite a moan - like he was trying _not_ to, and Steve moved back to lick from the base back up to the tip until he was fully hard, and then swallowed him down. Loosening his throat and his jaw, and then Billy was knocking Steve's cap off and burying his hands into Steve's sweaty post-sports hair – fisting there because he knew that was what Steve _liked_. Sucking, cheeks hollowed, Steve's eyes went half lidded as Billy tugged. Oh Christ.

Steve sucked him off there beneath the bleachers, working around the jock strap until Billy was coming down his throat. Weak kneed and calling Steve’s name, like a memory, there at the empty field where no one could hear. Billy’s come wasn’t the only thing he swallowed – he was also swallowing up the sounds that Billy was making too - all of those soft little kitten sounds he made, the desperate ones from the back of his throat, gasping and needy. He stored them away, somewhere in his heart, where he could examine them later in the quiet of his room. Especially if this never happened again. 

Because Steve always wanted more. 

***

That night, after a long day at Family Video, they met up again at night for their late evening pitching practice. They hadn't arranged it this time, set no time, and made no plans. But Steve showed up, just in case - and he wasn't surprised when he saw Billy there too. Fireflies bobbing around dizzy in the air behind him, and creeping on the grass beyond the baseball field. The crickets and cicaids were chirruping like a brash symphony, and BIlly was already waiting, baseball glove in hand. 

And he was looking at Steve. And in that one look - in that one look, everything suddenly felt...different. Not like last spring, or three months ago, or even a week ago. And he didn't know what had changed. It was just...a look. The soft curl of his mouth. The way his eyes caught Steve's. Different.

Billy threw the ball - and Steve caught it with a satisfying _thump_. 

Steve smiled back. And he truly hoped, in that moment, that it could be more. 

Because the promise of of it was suddenly there.


End file.
